


Better

by taoroo



Series: In this place, forever [1]
Category: Ladyhawke (1985)
Genre: Aftercare, Angst and Feels, Domestic Discipline, Hurt/Comfort, Parental couples and their dysfunctional child, Philippe is a precious cinnamon roll, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-06 08:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14638122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taoroo/pseuds/taoroo
Summary: Philippe has spent his whole life alone, surviving on his wits and nimble fingers. Navarre and Isabeau wish for something different for their Mouse, something better. Philippe, on the other hand, can't believe anyone would think him worth the effort.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing a discipline fic in first person. I tried hard to get the voices right in this one, let me know what you think! T x

I eyed the town of Asinus eagerly as our small band approached it. It was market day and stalls were scattered about the square. A well-to-do sort of place I had not visited before, ripe as an apple upon a branch. The smell of roasting pork and toasted chestnuts mingled with woodfire on the air, and even from here I could hear the clamour of the people. _I swear, Lord, I could even hear the clank of their purses!_

Ladyhawke could hear them too, beneath her hood, and she gave a shriek of what I imagine was frustration; a forgotten memory of better times, when milady Isabeau could enjoy such a scene as herself.

I eagerly started forwards, only to feel Navarre’s heavy hand upon my shoulder.

“Remember my warning, little thief,” he growled into my ear. His breath was hot and it was all I could do not to shudder.

“Yes, yes,” I managed, trying to sound natural though my mouth was suddenly dry. I resented his implication, that I needed telling twice after his long lecture that morning. “You’ve made yourself quite clear, milord,” I said and clenched my fists around my itching palms.

Navarre’s startling eyes narrowed as he levelled a stern glare upon me. _Lord! My knees near buckled!_

“Be sure to keep it in mind,” he said, before sweeping away into the town, milady Isabeau upon his arm.

I kicked grumpily at the dirt and huffed a discontented sigh. “Truly, Lord,” I said, casting my eyes upward. “The man acts as if he were my gaoler. Could you not allow me a moment’s peace from his attention?”

Behind me I heard Imperious give a deep chuckle. “Be careful what you wish for, master Mouse. A moment’s respite is all you need to fall back into bad habits.” The monk smiled broadly at my frown and clapped me upon the back as he passed by. “The Captain has only your safety in mind, boy. It would be wise to heed him, on this occasion.”

“But then when is a man to have any fun?” I called after Imperious, but received only laughter in reply.

~

My hands were itching again when we returned to our camp, though this time it was not for the need to satisfy my urge to steal. No, this time I simply felt the urgency to hide my loot before a certain Captain could see.

Imperious had gone straight to Abraham, giving the old nag a carrot he had bought from the market just for that purpose. Navarre crossed to Goliath, encouraging milady onto the pommel of his saddle.

“Well,” I said, keeping my tone light and cheery, and clapping my hands together in a businesslike manner, “I think it time I collected some firewood and then saw to our evening meal.”

“I have plenty of wood on my cart,” said Imperious mildly, still cooing over his beast.

I cursed the monk silently and then swiftly followed it with a plea to the Lord to forgive me. I knew He would, for He is a forgiving sort and knows my weaknesses well.

“Well… I spotted a stream not far away. I’ll go and fill our water skins.”

“I did so this morning,” Navarre said.

His piercing grey eyes were studying me, as a wolf would study its prey. I could not help a nervous gulp, but tried to hide it with a weak smile, quickly breaking the gaze to turn and point in a random direction.

“Ah, then perhaps I shall…”

“What did you take?”

 _I swear, Lord, my heart can’t take this!_ Panic shot through me and settled heavily in my gut.

“Really, milord, I’m hurt at your lack of trust,” I exclaimed, feigning that hurt. The hand on my breast may have been a touch over-dramatic, but never let it be said that Philippe the Mouse does not give a full performance with every scene.

Navarre seemed unimpressed, however. “What did you take?” he repeated. What an ominous tone!

“Nothing, I swear it!”

Milord’s eyes didn’t leave my face for an instant. I felt sweat break out upon my neck, despite the cold of the afternoon.

“Imperious. Do you still have your rosary?” he asked.

The old monk grunted in affirmative and walked toward me, fishing in his pockets and bringing out a plain, wooden rosary. My eyes quickly darted to it and then back to Navarre. Sweat trickled coldly down my spine.

“Truly, milord, I swear…”

“Take it.”

I tried to swallow, but my mouth was too dry. My gaze fell back on the rosary, and Imperious’ face above it, looking stern. I took a step back. Or tried to. Imperious had snatched my arm and forced his rosary into my hand, closing my fingers around it.

“I am offended by the implication,” I said, raising my chin but daring not to look at the object in my hand. I could feel the indent of the cross in my palm. _Really, Lord, I think this most unsporting!_

“What did you take?” Navarre asked again in his same, even, terrible voice.

I wrestled with my conscience for a moment, but really, what was I to do?

“It wasn’t anything much,” I finally said. “Nothing of real consequence, truly.”

“You risked our lives for something of no consequence?”

 _Wait. What?_ “No!”

“Then it _was_ of consequence?”

There he went again with the confounding word trickery! “No, I mean that I didn’t risk our lives!”

Navarre’s eyes narrowed dangerously and beside me I heard Imperious suck a tight, disapproving hiss.

“No?” Navarre asked, and his voice turned my insides to water.

“I think that Abraham and I shall go and visit the stream after all,” Imperious said, taking the rosary from my unresisting hand. I glared at him.

“Traitor,” I muttered.

Imperious returned my look with a stern glare until I ducked my head away from it, feeling unusually uncomfortable. Was I sick? Or was it something in the disappointed way the old drunk looked at me that caused my stomach to ache so? I remained glaring at the earth as Imperious fussed about his ass, listening to his rambling as the pair toddled off into the trees. Honestly, you wouldn’t catch me talking so with a poor dumb beast. The man’s mind was wandered, surely.

“Philippe.”

I flinched. Had Navarre ever called me by my name before? Perhaps, but definitely not in such an unsettling way. It reminded me of the time he had thrown his sword at me. I had known not to cross him then, either.

Navarre’s grey eyes were fixed upon me like the clouds of a gathering storm. He lowered his chin and lifted a hand, crooking a finger.

“Come here.”

My feet, wise things, shuffled back a pace or two. I brought my hands up before me, as if to ward off some unspeakable demon. “Now, Navarre,” I said. If he could use my name against me then I could play at that game too. “Let’s be reasonable about this!”

The man’s mouth was pressed into a thin line and he breathed out hotly through his nose like a dragon. Ah, he was upset with me. More so than when he’d tied me to the tree, or when I, in my foolishness, had passed the injured milady off as a mere bird. I took another step back. This time, the Captain followed.

I felt my pulse quicken, my legs trembling with the desire to run. But Navarre would just ride me down on Goliath again, and by that point the man might be angry enough to murder one poor, innocent, thief on sight.

 _Well… perhaps not that innocent, Lord_.

There was nothing for it then but to plead my case and hope for mercy.

“Milord, I beg you, see reason!” I stammered, damn my cowardice. “It was only a small—”

“Did I, or did I not instruct you to keep your thieving hands to yourself in the village?”

“…Yes, milord.”

“And did you not give me your oath that you would do so.”

Well, if he was going to use something so crass as _facts_ against me then so could I.

“No, milord.”

That halted his advance and so I paused in my retreat.

“What do you mean, “no”?” Milord asked, looking perplexed. It was a look I had caused in him before, when my mind led my mouth down an odd path. It was almost funny.

I did not laugh. Instead, I quickly made a scan of the campsite, looking for exits. The path to the east led to the stream, where I was sure not to receive a welcoming by the mad monk; the path west led to the village, which I ruled out – no doubt the man from whose stall I had liberated my prize would have discovered it missing by now; the way north was blocked by Navarre, which left only south behind me.

I took another step back.

“I mean, that is to say… I did not say as such, not in so many words,” I tried to clarify, hoping to give myself a few more steps of a head-start whilst the confusion lasted. “You said—,” and here I affected my best gravelled baritone, an impression of the man that I was quite proud of, “—"Little thief, I don’t want to see you stealing when we reach that village”… And I promised that you would not... See me, that is.”

My, Lord, how wide open the Captain’s eyes flew! Almost as wide as his mouth! I gave him my best, charming smile, to show there were no hard feelings. He stood, speechless, and so I hastened to fill the silence.

“So you see, I kept my word, in as much as at no point did you or anyone else see me relocate any items into my own pockets.”

Miraculously, the man smiled! Then, greater miracle of miracles, he laughed! I let myself relax, glad that the danger to my person was passed, and joined in the laughter. He closed the space between us and clapped my shoulder warmly.

“I see I shall have to chose my words carefully in future, little thief.”

“Don’t blame yourself, milord,” I said with a sheepish yet cheeky smile that I knew was disarming to most. “It is in my nature, after all. And you cannot blame a man for wanting to stay in practice.”

“Perhaps I should provide you with a stronger incentive, then.”

I was about to respond with something naturally witty when the grip on my shoulder changed, joined by Navarre’s other hand as he grasped my collar roughly and made to drag me who knew where! Well I knew that trick, and made haste to shimmy out of my jerkin as I had a hundred times past when ruffians of the law decided to make fresh with my person. This time, however, a sharp pain in my ear halted me. The man had shifted his grip to my lobe and was holding fast! I cried out in pain and froze in place. The captain was sure to rip my ear clean off if he kept on tugging so! I had no choice but to accompany the poor extremity as it and Navarre made their way across the campsite, until we were at the cloak-draped fallen log that we had made into a bench to sit upon before the fire.

I had no time to wonder my fate, only hoping the Captain would kill me quickly, for I am quite allergic to pain. I closed my eyes tightly, squeezing back the tears that had sprung to their corners at the hurt in my poor ear. I felt him drag me downward and wondered briefly if he meant to place my head upon the log, perhaps as a crude cutting block for that monstrous sword of his.

_Oh Lord, have mercy on this sinner! If you can see it in your benevolence to let me live then I shall donate a large sum to the next church that we pass… as soon as such a sum could be liberated from some unwary patron, of course!_

Instead of the rough earth I felt myself falling over something hard and unrelenting, yet warm and familiar. My eyes sprang open as I realised my position and, in the next hitched breath, my predicament.

I have had on many occasions throughout my life been subject to a beating, at first from the whores and their masters at the tavern in which I spent my early years, and then from the hands of various masters of my trade as they sought to impart their knowledge through my hide. I was under no illusions as to what was about to happen.

“Milord, I implore you— ARGH!”

His free hand, still clad in heavy leather, came down fast and hard, right upon the peak of my rump. I was scrawny enough, and he so large, that his palm near covered the whole of my backside; yet when it rose and fell twice more in quick succession, he focused his attention on first one and then the other cheek. Perhaps I should be grateful that he was only using his hand, great shovel that it was! _Courage, Mouse, you’ve stood much worse before!_

Navarre still held my ear in his fingers, and so turning to give him my best ‘starving orphan’ look was impossible. So was struggling, unless I wished to lose my ear. I sought instead to reach his sympathies through my voice, which I did with much enthusiasm.

Soon, however, the pain in my rear was causing me more than a little trouble, and my false cries were becoming much less so, and – to my horror – much wetter. I chocked back a sob when his palm made contact for the thousand-thousandth time, feeling true tears welling behind my eyes.

Navarre’s fingers released their clasp of my ear, moving instead to the small of my back. It would be no use to fight him – I didn’t dare! – lest he take a stick to me, or perhaps choose to simply pound me into the earth with his fists. My arms, which had been flailing about uselessly ‘til this point, came forward, and I buried my head in them to wail.

“I am greatly disappointed in you, Philippe Gaston,” said Navarre above me. The fiend didn’t even sound out of breath, though he must have been going on for hours by now! His hand kept rising and falling, and my backside was getting hotter and hotter. But his words, for some reason, hurt more than the thrashing, piercing my chest better than a bolt from his crossbow, my heart fluttering like a downed hawk. I sucked in my breath only to have it driven out of me when the next stroke fell.

“Do you know why I ordered you not to steal from the town?”

“Be- because its against the law, n- no doubt,” I ground, hoping that my tone was cutting, though I suspect it was barely more than a burble. Either way, it was poorly received, judging by the flurry of smacks to my thighs. I gave an involuntary kick, but nothing could help me escape this brute’s attention. _Ohh! Lord, let this devil find mercy!_

“If you had been caught you might have been killed,” Navarre said, ignoring my cries. “At the least you would have been imprisoned. You gave me your word that you would help me into Aquila, and again that you would not steal when we were in Asinus.”

“I told you, I—!”

“You know that your excuse bears no weight, little thief,” said Navarre in a stern and disapproving tone. “If you had been caught, then I might have been questioned. They might have tried to arrest me – which would have gone poorly for them – or hang us all for thieves. They might still come, this night when Isabeau can’t fly to safety. Will you protect her then, little Mouse, from a mob of angry men?”

I froze, listening to the Captain’s words with mounting horror. Milady was certainly no damsel in distress, but she couldn’t hope to face a mob and live. Neither could I, if it came to that. I always found my safety in my feet, running at the first sign of danger. But things were different now, _I_ was different now… or so I had thought.

“I… I’m sorry!” I cried, feeling my voice catch around the sudden tightness in my throat. I clutched at my overlong sleeves, balling the cloth into my fists, and pressed my eyes tightly closed against the wave of shame that washed over me. I had never felt too badly about stealing before, it was my means to survive, after all; my only talent, and I was _very_ good at it. _Surely Lord, you would not give me such a skill if you did not intend for me to use it?_ ...Navarre thought differently, it seemed.

His hand rested upon my scalded rump, and I dared to hope that it was over. Had that been all I had needed to say? _Lord, if it had been that easy I would have appreciated some sign from You some hours ago!_

“I am glad to hear it,” Navarre said.

I felt myself being shifted and let out a squawk of surprise as my trousers were swiftly yanked down to my knees. Mortified beyond belief, I tried to twist out of the devil’s grasp, but he simply pressed down harder on my back and pinned me in place. My face glowed as hotly as my rear and I groaned, pressing it into my bunched hands.

“You broke your word,” I heard the Captain say, but nothing could have prepared me for what followed. A series of slaps far harder than those before them, landing in a line down from the crest of my bottom to the backs of my knees, the last few focused upon the tender flesh at the top of my thighs where I might try to sit should the urge overwhelm my common sense. I had not realised how much my trousers had been protecting me before now; thin, inferior things that they were.

As sudden as he had started, Navarre stopped. After a moment’s pause, still gasping from the assault, I barely registered milord when he next spoke, but the words clarified as the hand fell once more.

“You stole.”

I yelled, good and hard as the same pattern followed, ten or more hard smacks from top to tail then back to my tender sitting place. I’m sure the skin there must be broken the way that it hurts so.

He stopped again, and I sucked in my breath in great, big gasps. My heart hammered in my chest, surely bruising my ribs. Sweat stuck my hair to my head and ran down my brow to mix with my tears. My eyes stung something fierce.

“You lied to me.”

I wailed, knowing in my despair what was to come, and Navarre did not disappoint me. I swear each blow stripped flesh, leaving me raw and smarting, dizzy from the burn of it.

“I promise I won’t do so, not ever again!” I cried, and more besides. Promises to be good, countless sorries that tripped over my tongue and burbled from my lips. And I cried; how I howled! I had never felt anything like it, not just the pain – though, of course, it was intolerable bad – but the great rending _something_ in my chest, like my heart had been beaten just as hard. _That_ was much worse.

I felt Navarre’s hand on my head, rubbing fingers through my hair. I tensed, waiting for him to make a fist. Was he going to drag me up now? Hit me and kick me for my disobedience? I trembled. _Dear Lord, you will forgive me for you know I am a coward_.

“I accept your apology, little Mouse,” I heard him say. “I forgive you. You have paid for your sins.”

I stammered, not knowing what to say. Surely there was more. There was always more.

“Please,” I begged, wincing at the rawness of my throat. “Please sir, no more.”

My trousers were pulled up over my scalded backside, the feel of it making me arch and wail, and then I was being hauled to my feet. I cringed, expecting the first blow, but it never came.

Navarre’s hand rested on my shoulder, steadying me. The other came to my cheek, cupping my face, the thumb wiping away the tears that still ran without apparent end. I could no more stop them than I could myself that morning, when I’d seen my trinket upon its stall.

“Enough, little thief,” I heard Navarre murmur, surprised at how gentle he sounded. But I could not stop my tears, staring miserably down at my feet, my breath hitching, my nose stuffed, and my head sore.

“Philippe,” Navarre said after a while. “Calm yourself.”

 _Oh, Lord! How I wish I could!_ _But this awful pain in my chest won’t leave me, and my backside hurts so fierce!_

Still, I tried, for him.

“I’m sorry,” I stuttered, voice catching on a sob as I roughly wiped my eyes with my sleeve. “I’m sorry, milord.”

The hands that held me shook me a little roughly, and the Captain’s words were just shy of stern.

“You needn’t say sorry any more, Mouse. You’ve paid your price and it’s over. Do you understand.”

I nodded automatically but then changed it to a jerking shake. How could it be over… unless he meant that it was really over between us and he was done with me. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps I had lost his favour completely and I would have to leave. Another bubbling sob burst from my lips at that, escaping from the black tar pit that was my stomach. I clutched my arms about it, as if I could press away the sickness there.

I heard Navarre sigh and then found myself being dragged forward, my head pressed against his chest. One of his hands was on the back of my head, the other arm wrapped around me, pulling me close. I gasped, my tears halting from the shock. Though it was powerful strange I felt the urge to hug him back and did so. Let it never be said that Philippe the Mouse did not take whatever he wanted.

“There, that’s better,” milord said above me, and I felt his voice in the vibration of his chest. “Cry as much as you need, little Mouse. I am here. I have you.”

I pressed my eyes tightly closed once more and let my tears fall.

“Do you hate me?” I whispered, half-hoping he would not hear.

I tried not to panic when he pulled away, but it was just enough so that he could look down upon me, the hand on my hair coming to lift my chin so that he could gaze into my eyes.

“I don’t hate you, little Mouse,” he said in a gentle but firm voice. “You are a good boy, with a kind and noble spirit. But you also need to learn to obey me.”

I looked away, a blush rising on my cheeks. “If stealing is so wrong then why did the Lord make me so good at it?” I muttered, knowing I sounded petulant.

“If I wasn’t meant to punish you for stealing then why did the Lord send you to me?” Navarre countered wryly, his hand leaving my chin to ruffle my hair.

_I wonder at that, Lord, because he does have a point. I just wish he wasn’t so blasted good at making it._

I stayed quiet in Navarre’s arms, content to let the silence last.

“It’s almost sunset.”

I winced. Oh damn this blasted curse! My heart wasn’t near ready to give up my comfortable position. Then I thought of Isabeau, and how badly she must miss this too, and felt that same pulling on my gut again. Shame, it was, I realised, and guilt. Miserable stuff.

Navarre cleared his throat and I knew an instruction when I heard one. Still, I wasn’t sure I wanted to look up into those stormy eyes again, but I felt myself do so anyway.

He smiled, his hand still on my head, and gazed at me solemnly from under his snow-light lashes.

“Before then I must warn you, little thief. You will not lie, or steal, or break your word again, is that understood?”

“But—!”

“Ah,” he interrupted me with a click of his tongue and a squeeze to my shoulder. “I know this is a promise that will be hard for you to keep, but _I_ promise _you_ , that should you ever fail, I will be there to correct you.”

“C-correct me…” I knew what that meant and winced in fear for my poor backside.

Navarre nodded solemnly. “The next time I shall not be so gentle,” he promised.

Gentle! I groaned and hung my head. _Dear Lord, how did I get myself mixed up with such a brute?_

“Do you understand, Philippe?”

I wanted to disagree. Wanted to stamp, and carry on, and fight the injustice of it. But I felt again that shame in my gut, the one that said, “you can be better, Mouse!”, and I gave in.

“Yes, sir.”

The Captain’s hand moved to cup the back of my head, and I looked up to see him smiling fondly down at me.

“Navarre.”

I swallowed thickly. “Yes, Navarre.”

He nodded, clearly pleased, and my heart swelled at the thought…

“One last thing. You will tell Isabeau of what you have done.”

…and plummeted to my knees.

“Does she have to know?” I begged, feeling myself close again to tears.

“You endangered her life as well as ours, she has a right to know,” Navarre said, his tone gentle but firm.

“What if she…” I fumbled, “…what if she…” I made a weak motion with my hand, rising and then falling, as close as I could get to speaking my fear aloud.

“She has a right to that, also. Don’t you think?”

I bit my lip, thinking of all the ways this day could have gone wrong, all the ways I had already hurt milady though my selfish actions.

“Will you fight her, if she does?”

“Of course not!” I sputtered indignantly. _The very idea!_

Navarre chuckled and patted my head like one would a child or favourite dog. “You are a brave soul, Philippe Gaston. Have courage.”


	2. Chapter 2

I did not feel brave, standing there as I did, watching milord plod away into the shadows. He had left it awful close; the sun’s light had almost fled from our camp entirely.

Milady had flown away at some point during my… discussion with the Captain… and so I was alone. Navarre had set her clothes lovingly upon a branch at the edge of the forest before he had departed and I fought the sudden ridiculous urge to embrace them.

I made to sit upon the log and then sprang up the instant my abused backside touched the cloak.

“I suppose I should see to supper then, Lord,” I said, making further small-talk while the fire grew and our meal of roasted rabbit began to sizzle upon their sticks.

I wandered the camp while it cooked, not wanting to sit, and found myself next to Goliath. The great beast huffed and nuzzled at my hand, turning away when no food was offered.

“I suppose I put you in danger, too,” I muttered miserably, “and Imperius and Abraham too.” I patted his mane, seeking comfort in the touch.

I’d never felt shame over my stealing before. Regret, yes, whenever a lawman’s hand had clapped upon my unwary shoulder; or fear many times when running for my life. But never shame. And I hated the idea that these two wonderful, noble people were disappointed in me, that I had lost their favour.

Tears sprang to my eyes but I quickly dashed them away.

“Philippe? Is something wrong?”

I startled, causing Goliath to toss his head in disapproval, then bit back a groan as I thought of what was to come.

Isabeau came close to me, her beautiful eyes filled with concern. I quickly looked away, too ashamed to meet them.

A hand came up to cup my cheek and I pressed into the touch, enjoying the comfort for what little time it lasted.

“Philippe, you’ve been crying. What is it? Are you hurt?” A small gasp. “Where is Navarre?”

“He is well!” I hastily reassured her, raising my hands and stepping away from her undeserved attention. “I…” I swallowed, unsure how to proceed, and hung my head away from her sorrowful gaze.

“We went to the town of Asinus today,” I began haltingly. “Navarre had… I promised milord that I would not steal, but I…”

I couldn’t go on. Couldn’t admit to this angel of heaven that the man standing before her was unworthy of sharing the same air. I don’t know how I dared be near her, only that I had promised Navarre that I would confess. Besides; leaving her alone and defenceless was unthinkable.

Luckily milady is as astute as she is beautiful.

“Oh, dear Mouse,” she said, her perfect lips pouting in sympathy as she came forward to clasp her hands gently to my cheeks. “Did he smack you very hard?”

 _My heart nearly stopped, Lord! What a perfect, forgiving angel!_ I did not deserve her forgiveness but here she was, giving it freely and with sympathy for my injuries. Perhaps she would let me lie down beside the fire, head resting in her lap, and stroke my hair for a while.

“Oh yes, milady,” I hastened to agree, eyes wide and innocent, “most fearfully so.”

Isabeau’s eyes hardened and her fine brow quirked upward. “Good,” she said dryly, mouth twisted in a wry frown.

I gaped. Betrayal!

Isabeau’s gaze softened and she laughed, one slender finger tapping against my blushing cheek. “Oh, Mouse, you naughty thing!” She leant in and kissed my nose lightly, then reached down to take my hand.

I didn’t resist, letting her lead me where she would, though I did fumble a little when I realised I was once more being taken to the cloak-covered log.

“Take down your trousers and lay over the log,” she instructed, as if she were telling me how to make tea.

I do believe I whimpered. To my complete dismay I found tears springing to my eyes. _Oh! The shame of it, Lord!_

“Please, milady. I cannot bear—!”

“Now, please, my dear,” she said in a firm tone that I could not disobey.

I gulped back my tears, chest heaving in small, panicked gasps as I fought to be brave. My jerkin thankfully hid most of my body from sight, but there was nothing I could do about my bottom or the backs of my legs, crimson and raw as they were from her husband's attention. Laying over the log only served to pull the jerkin higher and reveal the fullness of my backside to Isabeau’s gaze… and her mercy.

Nothing happened for a long while. I heard milady walking about camp, perhaps selecting some form of weapon to wield against my poor rump. On one hand I was glad, for I’d hate for Isabeau to hurt herself over me even slightly – and she was still healing after all – but on the other I was terrified to imagine what horrible implement she might choose. Navarre’s belt, perhaps? Or a stick from the firewood pile? Maybe she’d even fashion a rod of birches… each option had its own miserable style of suffering, and on already scorched flesh...? I crossed my arms before me and buried my head in them, fighting back my tears as bravely as I could. _Come on, Mouse, be a man! You can’t blub before she’s even begun!_

“Ooh,” I heard milady croon, closer than I’d thought her to be. I flinched and tensed, waiting for the first blow.

Her hand rested upon my back, soothing and strong. She was knelt down beside me. Was she planning on using her hand after all? I blushed at the very thought! Her soft and slender hands upon my skin? _Oh, Lord, even if it was for the sake of inflicting pain, forgive me but I shall take what pleasure I can from this!_

Her palm did come down then, but I gasped when I felt it. Soft fingers, bearing something cool and soothing, a balm of some kind that made me groan in relief as it chased away the sting.

“Poor thing,” Isabeau said, her hand smoothing the balm over my scorched flesh.

I didn’t think I could be more mortified, but the sudden idea of milady kneeling over me, her hands gently caressing my backside, well… _Lord, I don’t need to tell you what effect such an intimate thing might have on a person!_ This was at the same time both better and so very much worse than Navarre’s thrashing.

“Please, milady,” I stammered, not daring to lift my head from my arms. “Please don’t—”

“I will do as I please, Philippe,” Isabeau scolded, giving my rump a sharp tap that had me squawking, my head jerking up from its hiding place. “Now be quiet and let me work.”

“Yes, milady,” I whispered, resting my chin upon my arms gloomily as I resigned myself to my fate. Somehow I was closer to tears now than I had been before. One rolled down my cheek and I sniffed more away.

“You know that we only want you to be safe, don’t you, Mouse?” Isabeau asked, her tone lightly scolding.

I drew in a deep, shudderingly wet breath. “Yes, milady.”

“What was it that was so important that you would risk your life to take?”

I squirmed a little but stopped when I realised that was only making my predicament worse. “It’s not that it was important, milady. I just… I couldn’t help myself.”

Isabeau chuckled. A pat from her told me my medicine was over and so I reached back, pulling my trousers over my much-less aching backside as quickly as I dared.

Milady’s hands helped me sit up, and I sat back on my heels, letting my bottom rest between them, safe from any hard surface. As Isabeau sat upon the log before me I kept my hands in my lap, staring down at them, unable to look up into her gaze.

“Philippe?”

I bit my lip, dashing away more tears. “I’ve been nothing but trouble for you since we met,” I muttered. Usually I would save such words for a last attempt at pity from my captors, but this time I meant them and wholeheartedly. I wasn’t a mouse, I was a flea. A wart on a flea. Worth nothing to nobody.

“How can you comfort me? I don’t deserve it.”

A hand rested upon my head, like a benediction. “Dear Mouse, don’t be so hard on yourself,” the great lady said, a smile in her voice. “If it wasn’t for you I would be dead.”

“If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have been hurt in the first place,” I scoffed, my eyes burning.

For a second time that evening my ear was pinched by a disciplinary hand. I yelped, my own hand coming up to rub the stinging lobe. I stared up at Isabeau, filling my gaze with hurt reproach as I pressed my lips together against the smarting pain.

“Is this the great Philippe the Mouse before me?” Isabeau demanded. She sat straight upon the log, as if upon a throne, her posture as regal as any queen. “You have taken what you want in life, so why is our affection any different?”

“I thought you didn’t want me stealing,” I said, knowing I sounded petulant.

“You can’t steal what is freely given,” Isabeau said with a fond smile. “Sweet boy, won’t you let us love you?”

 _Love?_ My eyes brimmed and then overflowed. I fell forwards, burying myself into her lap, my arms wrapped around milady’s middle. If she wanted me to take then I would gladly do so, for I was badly in need of comfort right now.

We stayed that way for a long while, she stroking my hair as my thoughts drifted.

“Milady?” I ventured eventually.

“Yes, little Mouse?” she sounded as content as I felt.

“I…” I reluctantly withdrew from her embrace, my hand going to a pocket where my contraband was hidden. I took it out, and held it out to Isabeau, my lip caught between my teeth.

“I saw it and thought you would like it,” I said, too bashful too look up at her. “I thought you might… that it might do, until the curse is broken.”

I felt her fingers stroke the brooch: a likeness of a proud wolf’s head, with startling blue eyes. Only painted wood and chipped glass, nothing expensive or particularly fancy, but it had caught my attention at once. I’d been so caught up in the idea of gifting it to Isabeau that I hadn’t stopped to consider Navarre’s warning, or my promise to him. And afterward it had been too late.

Isabeau’s hands curled around mine, still holding the brooch. I looked up, trying not to show my hurt at her rejection.

“Your heart was in the right place, sweet boy,” she said, soft and sad. “But you know I can’t accept a stolen gift, however much I like it.”

I sighed. “Yes, I thought you might say that.”

“You will return it tomorrow.”

“I thought you might say that too,” I winced. “Could… could I not pay for it instead? Would you take it then?”

“With stolen money?” she asked gently, her brow raised in question.

I deflated, lips pursed in defeat. “...Very well, milady.”

A hand came to rest upon my head. “It was a lovely thought, dear Mouse. Thank you.”

~

Father Imperious returned not long after, Abraham plodding peacefully behind him. Isabeau and I had settled beside the fire, my head in her lap as I lay upon my side. I was in the middle of telling a long and silly story, drinking in her laughter and almost forgetting the sting in my tail.

“So,” the monk said, coming to seat himself at the fire and take a chunk of rabbit to eat.

Isabeau looked at him with glittering eyes. “So,” she repeated with mock solemnity.

I tried hard not to blush; they were sharing some joke at my expense, I was sure of it.

“Best stick close to the fire, tonight,” Imperious said. “There are dread beasts about.”

“Oh?” Isabeau asked lightly, whilst I steadfastly ignored them both, scratching patterns in the dirt with a twig.

“Oh, yes,” Imperious said, taking a draught of wine. “I heard one of them not long ago. Howling dreadfully it was.”

I froze, then shot the monk a narrow-eyed glare.

“Fit to wake the dead,” Imperious said, ignoring me completely. It was dark, but the fire lit up the curve of his lips quite well enough. “I’ve never heard such a monstrous sound, I was sure some poor creature was being slaughtered.”

“Enough, Imperious,” Isabeau said, her rescue coming belatedly and with a chuckle that defied her innocence.

“Yes, enough, Imperious,” I growled.

“Oh? Has our sinner paid for his crimes?” Imperious chuckled too and took another deep drink.

I flushed and ducked my head down as Isabeau replied.

“One spanking is quite enough, thank you, Imperious. Philippe doesn’t need another.”

“You’re sure?” Imperious flexed an arm with a grin. “I used to give quite a sturdy sermon, when I was younger.”

“Must have been a very long while ago,” I grumbled under my breath, but not quite enough it seemed as Imperious coughed and spluttered.

“If I didn’t know better I’d think your Navarre too soft a touch,” he said to Isabeau, who was fighting hard to keep from laughing.

“I shall tell him so,” I said saucily.

Imperious half stood from his seat, his arm raised and I yelped, rolling my backside away from his range, only to yelp again and arch upward when it touched the hard ground.

“Mercy, Father,” I begged, one hand raised before me while the other massaged my protesting backside.

Above me Isabeau was laughing, _and I thought, Lord, that this all wasn’t such a hardship if it caused her ladyship to laugh so._

Imperious sat back down with a satisfied grunt. “Very well, the Lord favours a merciful man, after all.”

“The Lord also favours the charitable who are generous to those in need,” I ventured, keeping my eyes averted from the pair.

“Oh? And what would you like me to be generous about, boy?”

I blushed mightily, ducking my attention back to the ground. “I wondered, if you might, perhaps… lend me a few livre?”

The old monk scoffed. “And what would you do with it, eh?”

“Pay for my sins?” I ventured, my twig tracing patterns, as above me Isabeau whispered fondly, “oh, _Mouse_.”

Imperious huffed another laugh. “Very well, young rascal, you may have my coin. But you’ll work for it. I want Abraham’s coat shining by morning and his harness well oiled besides. I’ll give you a list of herbs to gather for good measure.”

“Is this payment or robbery?” I protested, then flinched and squeaked. “Why must it always be the ear?” I asked Isabeau plaintively, rubbing the fresh sting away.

Milady gave me a firm look and I sighed.

“Thank you, Imperious,” I said dutifully.

“You are very welcome, child.”

_I tell you, Lord, this “being good” is a strange thing indeed. But I suppose if it means that I could lay in a beautiful lady’s lap for a time, and have her stroke my hair as she laughs at my stories, well, then the rest is surely worth it._


End file.
